As fome fad Turtle his but are RDURES.
And with deep murmars fils the GmIĘ Joft:
Thus, far from Delia, as the wind

Alike unheard, unpity & ma brier.

Go, gentle gales, and hear my painter For her, the feather & pures

et ta se For her, the limes their peating kader ver

For her, the lilies img fer sedi. 20
Ye flowers that drop, frika

Ye birds that, left by imme.

Ye trees that fade when aIUM REEL TER
Say, is not abience feat a tack my que

Go, gentle gales, aut arga

Curs'd be the fields far sauer Je
Fade every bloom, witter even the
Die every flower, aut perik al. whe

What have If? where

The birds al ce a time ter crave an

The winds to breadie, the war

And ftreams to murmir e lart n

Not bubbling fountaine a the ta

Not balmy feep to about WIL

Not showers to katy, vim-heE

Are half to charming a to kg

AUTUM

BE

THE

THIRD PASTORAL,

OR

N.

HYLAS and EGON.

TO MR. WYCHERLEY.

ENEATH the shade a spreading beech displays,
Hylas and Ægon fung their rural lays :

This mourn'd a faithless, that an absent love;
And Delia's name and Doris' fill'd the grove.

Ye Mantuan nymphs, your facred fuccour bring; 5
Hylas and Ægon's rural lays I fing.

Thou, whom the Nine with Plautus' wit infpire, The art of Terence and Menander's fire;

Whofe fenfe inftructs us, and whofe humour charms,

Whofe judgment sways us, and whose spirit warms! 10 Oh, skill'd in Nature! fee the hearts of Swains,

Their artless paffions, and their tender pains.

Now fetting Phoebus fhone ferenely bright,

And fleecy clouds were streak'd with purple light;
When tuneful Hylas, with melodious moan,

15

Taught rocks to weep, and made the mountains groan. Go, gentle gales, and bear my fighs away!

To Delia's ear the tender notes convey.

As

As fome fad Turtle his loft love deplores,

And with deep murmurs fills the founding fhores;
Thus, far from Delia, to the winds I mourn,
Alike unheard, unpity'd, and forlorn.

Go, gentle gales, and bear my fighs along!
For her, the feather'd quires neglect their fong:
For her, the limes their pleafing fhades deny;
For her, the lilies hang their heads, and die.
Ye flowers that droop, forfaken by the spring,
Ye birds that, left by summer, cease to fing,
Ye trees that fade when autumn heats remove,
Say, is not abfence death to those who love;

Go, gentle gales, and bear my fighs away!
Curs'd be the fields that caufe my Delia's stay;
Fade every bloffom, wither every tree,

Die every flower, and perish all, but she.
What have I faid? where'er my Delia flies,
Let spring attend, and fudden flowers arife!
Let opening rofes knotted oaks adorn,
And liquid amber drop from every thorn.

Go, gentle gales, and bear my fighs along!
The birds fhall ceafe to tune their evening fong,
The winds to breathe, the waving woods to move,
And ftreams to murmur, ere I cease to love.

20

25

૩૦

35

Not bubbling fountains to the thirsty swain,

Not balmy sleep to labourers faint with pain,
Not fhowers to larks, or fun-fhine to the bee,
Are half so charming as thy fight to me.
D 3

45

Go,

Go, gentle gales, and bear my fighs away!
Come, Delia, come; ah, why this long delay?
Through rocks and caves the name of Delia sounds;
Delia, each cave and echoing rock rebounds.
Ye powers, what pleasing frenzy fooths my mind!
Do lovers dream, or is my Delia kind?

She comes, my Delia comes !-Now cease my lay,
And ceafe, ye gales, to bear my fighs away!

50

60

Next Ægon fung, while Windsor groves admir'd; 55 Rehearse, ye Muses, what yourselves infpir'd. Refound, ye hills, refound my mournful strain ! Of perjur'd Doris, dying I complain : Here where the mountains, leffening as they rife, Lose the low vales, and steal into the skies; While labouring oxen, spent with toil and heat, In their loofe traces from the field retreat: While curling fmoaks from village-tops are feen, And the fleet shades glide o'er the dusky green. Refound, ye hills, refound my mournful lay! Beneath yon' poplar oft we past the day: Oft' on the rind I carv'd her amorous vows, While the with garlands hung the bending boughs The garlands fade, the vows are worn away; So dies her love, and fo my hopes decay.

VARIATION.

Ver. 48. Originally thus in the MS.

:

With him through Libya's burning plains I'll go,
On Alpine mountains tread th' eternal fnow;
Yet feel no heat but what our loves impart,

65

70

Re

And dread no coldness but in Thyrfis' heart.

Refound, ye hills, refound my mournful strain!
Now bright Arcturus glads the teeming grain,
Now golden fruits on loaded branches shine,
And grateful clusters swell with floods of wine;
Now blushing berries paint the yellow grove;
Juft gods! fhall all things yield returns but love!
Refound, ye hills, refound my mournful lay!
The shepherds cry, "Thy flocks are left a prey.”
Ah! what avails it me, the flocks to keep,
Who loft my heart while I preferv'd my sheep.
Pan came, and ask'd, what magic caus'd my smart,
Or what ill eyes malignant glances dart?
What eyes but hers, alas, have power to move?
And is there magic but what dwells in love!

75

80

Refound, ye hills, refound my mournful ftrains! 85 I'll fly from fhepherds, flocks, and flowery plains. From fhepherds, flocks, and plains, I may remove, Forfake mankind, and all the world-but love!

I know thee, Love! on foreign mountains bred,
Wolves gave thee fuck, and favage tigers fed.
Thou wert from Ætna's burning entrails torn,
Got by fierce whirlwinds, and in thunder born!
Refound, ye hills, refound my mournful lay!
Farewell, ye woods, adieu the light of day! ́
One leap from yonder cliff shall end my pains,

go

95

No more, ye hills, no more refound my ftrains!

Thus fung the shepherds till th' approach of night, The skies yet blushing with departing light, When falling dews with spangles deck'd the glade, And the low fun had lengthen'd every shade.

D 4

100

WINTER.